


Sensate

by celinamarniss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Food Porn, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up, Temporary Blindness, Yavin 4, jedi academy, pining after your ex, temporary disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss
Summary: In the wake of an attack on one of Karrde's bases, Mara makes an unexpected visit to the Jedi Academy on Yavin.
Relationships: Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 62
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JediMordsith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/gifts).



> Thanks to JediMordSith for holding my hand and telling me this story was okay when I just wanted to give up on it. This fic is a gift to her for cheerleading me through the fic writing process over the last year. 

Luke’s third attempt to read through the annual Senate budgetary report was as much a failure as the first two. Only a couple of paragraphs in and his mind began to wander away from the list of figures spread out in front of him. His holo call to twins and Anakin wasn’t scheduled until the evening, he could talk to Kam about the leak in the kitchen sink at dinner, and he’d find out what dinner would be when he went down to the cafeteria. He needed to focus. 

_ The annual expenditure allocated to... _

“Master Skywalker?” He’d left his door open, half hoping for a distraction, and Tionne leaned through the open entryway, the silver bangles on her wrist tinkling as she rested a hand on the doorframe. 

“Yes, Tionne?” 

“Captain Faughn just requested permission to land  _ The Merry Chase _ . I cleared her, but none of Karrde’s ships are scheduled to make any drops this week. She told me that she had something to deliver to you personally.” 

“I’ll meet her and find out what’s going on,” he said, shuffling aside the budget reports with some relief. Odd that Faughn hadn’t sent him a message or passed on one through Tionne. 

“Thank you, Master Skywalker.” 

Shirlee Faughn was one of the captains assigned to deliver goods (and occasionally information) to the Jedi Academy, and he usually invited her to dinner whenever she made a drop. He knew that she and Mara were friendly, although Mara had never accompanied her on a supply run before. 

Mara didn’t just drop by the Academy. Not any more. 

_ The Merry Chase _ was hovering above the landing pad in front of the temple when he arrived, the late afternoon light glinting off the hull. He automatically reached out to brush his awareness over the ship, to get a quick sense of Faughn’s state of mind and if she had anyone else onboard. 

His eyes widened. Mara was aboard Faughn’s ship. He could sense as the ship approached, like a glimmer of light on the horizon. As  _ The Merry Chase _ carefully lowered down onto the tarmac, Luke could tell that Faughn was piloting, not Mara. Mara always hit the thrusters hard, her landings swift and confident. 

Why hadn’t she spoken to Tionne? He couldn’t get a read on her without pressing, but there was something…  _ off _ about her sense in the Force. A knot formed in his stomach. As the ramp lowered, two figures appeared silhouetted in the airlock and began to move slowly out of the ship. 

Mara. There was a sharp ache in his chest when he saw her; he didn’t think that would ever go away. 

She stood close to Faughn, her hand gripping the other woman’s arm. Her movements were stiff and her steps careful, as if she were afraid of aggravating an injury. Luke couldn’t sense any pain, but Mara’s shields were closed tight. Faughn matched her pace, a travel case in her other hand, and Luke had to clench his hands together in front of him to keep from rushing up the ramp. 

As Mara reached the bottom of the ramp, she looked up in his direction. His heart sank. A thin blue haze obscured the brilliant green of her eyes as they tracked blindly in his direction. Fillerite poisoning. 

“What happened?” Luke cleared the remaining space between him and ramp in a moment. 

“Mara, are you—“ 

“I’m fine,” Mara bit out. No sooner were the words out of her mouth then she stumbled on the edge of the ramp, her grip on Faughn’s shoulder going tight as she fought to regain her balance. Luke’s hands jerked out to steady her before he thought better of the motion, and he pulled back just before making contact. She couldn’t see the aborted gesture. 

“What happened?” Luke repeated, his heart aching. 

“There was a strike on our base on Hirjana.” Her eyes, fogged and dimmed, lifted to his, though the focus was off. “They knew I’d be there and they poisoned my wine at a meet beforehand.”

He didn’t need to ask but couldn’t help himself. “Karrde took care of them?” It came out harsher than he intended, his anger bleeding through in spite of himself. 

Faughn barked a laugh entirely devoid of humor. “You bet he did.” 

“Cighal’s off-planet—” 

“I know. I’ve already been looked at—Karrde called in a specialist. With the course of medication she prescribed I should make a full recovery.” 

“How long?” 

“Eight weeks, give or take. Longer, maybe. She wasn’t sure.” 

Eight weeks would seem like an eternity for Mara if she didn’t have something to do. It would test his patience as well, if he were in her shoes. 

“Karrde says—” Mara continued. “He read something about a few Force-users in the Rebellion who were blind.” 

“Before my time,” Luke said. “But I know who he means, and yes, there were a few Force-sensitive operatives in the Rebellion who used the Force to heighten their awareness of their surroundings. It is possible to use the Force to augment your senses enough to serve as a substitute for sight.” 

She nodded, a quick jerk of her head. “I need you to teach me.” She lifted her chin, eyes focused on a point past his head. “I can’t work like this.” 

“Of course. I’ll teach you everything I know.” 

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, her eyes dropping reflexively. There was an abrupt moment of silence as Faughn looked back and forth between them. 

“Are you staying too?” Luke asked her. 

“I’ll be back in a ten-day,” Faughn said. “Will that be enough time?”

Luke nodded. “It should be.” Mara’s raw talent and determination meant she was usually a fast study. “There’s a guest room ready—I can take you.” 

He led them to the guest wing of the Academy, a floor below the resident rooms. Faughn put the travel case on a table and opened it up. Mara always packed efficiently, but it was clear that the bag had been organized so that Mara could find anything she needed by touch. Faughn signaled for him to wait without saying anything as Mara traced her hands over the neatly folded clothes and held up a rolled bundle of cloth. 

“The blue,” Faughn said, and Mara nodded. 

“Can I bring you something to eat?” Luke asked as Faughn led her toward the room’s small fresher. 

“Sure,” Mara said, disappearing behind the door. 

Faughn paused, listening for the sound of water running before she turned back to the case and retrieved a small med kit. “This one in the morning, and the green at night. An injection every three days. She’ll take the pills on her own, but she needs help with the injection. Got that?” 

“Yes.” His eyes tracked over the aurebesh on the bottles, long strings of syllables that he couldn’t pronounce. The dosage instructions were clearly stated alongside the incomprehensible names. “I’ve got it. Will you stay for dinner?” 

He could see the struggle on her face, the look of someone longing to flee the room while being tempted to stay. 

“You know you’re always welcome here, and Kam and Tionne will be happy to see you. I’ll bring Mara something up so that she doesn’t have to deal with everyone asking questions.” 

“Thanks,” Faughn said. “Yeah, I’ll go say hi. And, hey, I’m sorry about all this.” Faughn waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the fresher. “I know this is awkward, dropping off your ex and then fucking off. Sorry about that. She insisted.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know how Mara is.” 

“Uh-huh,” Faughn said, giving him a weighted sidelong glance. 

Luke escorted her down to the dining room, where she was greeted enthusiastically by Tionne, who was always a gracious host. Leaving them to catch up, he filled a dinner tray before heading back up to Mara’s room. 

Mara was sitting on the edge of the bed when he returned, weaving damp hair into a loose braid. She wore leggings and a long, loose tunic in a deep blue shade he knew she liked. He had a number of shirts in the same color. 

Her head turned toward him as he came into the room, her eyes drifting sightlessly to fix in his general direction. It made his heart clench. 

“I brought you something to eat. There isn’t much room in here, so I thought we could eat in the lounge down the hall.” 

“Sure.” Her hands went up as she stood, grasping at empty space. 

“Should I—do you—” He took a step forward, then stepped back again, unsure if she wanted him to touch her. 

“Yes,” she snapped, her face pinched and angry. 

“Uh. Okay,” he mumbled, more to himself than her, as he shifted the food tray to one hand, and then, reconsidering, put it on the sideboard for the moment. Taking her outstretched hand, he guided it to his arm. Mara wrapped her fingers around his bicep, the warmth of her hand seeping into his arm. 

It had been so long since the last time she’d touched him. 

“Okay?” He felt like he was dealing with a skittish animal that he wasn’t certain would flee or sink its teeth into his arm. Mara ducked her head as if she were staring at the floor, and nodded. 

Luke picked up the tray again and led her out of the room and down the hall. There was a small, all-purpose lounge at the far end of the floor, with a table and a set of chairs. He lifted the cover off of the tray and set out the meal: two bowls of curried stew, elba grain bread, and a pitcher of water. 

“Leia keeps offering to send me a kitchen droid, but we’re still such a small community that I keep telling her that it isn’t necessary. We take turns in the kitchen and we still have a lot of pre-prepped things shipped in, just to make it easier on everyone. Kam made the stew. He took a holo course on cooking and baking, and he’s become our best chef.” 

The warm, spicy smell of curried stew wafted into the air as he lifted the lid off of her bowl and then his own. Mara’s fingers crept along the table until she found the round edge of the bowl with her left hand and her spoon with her right. 

It was one of Kam’s better recipes, improvised in part depending on what they had in stock in the kitchen at the time. This particular batch made use of tiny round loba peppers from Felucia that filled his mouth with a bright tangy flavor when Luke burst them between his teeth. Tikit grains made the stew thick and easy to scoop onto a spoon; one of the reasons he’d chosen it for their meal. 

Luke knew that Mara wouldn’t talk about her work, especially the series of events that had led to her poisoning, so he filled the silence. He kept his stories about life at the Praxeum light, sticking to humorous, everyday incidents, hoping she didn’t hear recrimination behind his words, hoping she wasn’t hearing “I wish you were here, I wish you’d stayed” underneath every line. Even if it was true. 

She didn’t finish her curry. “I’ll have a ration bar if I get hungry,” she said when he pressed. “You don’t have to fuss over me.” It came out stiff, rather than acerbic, as he’d expected. 

He bit back a sigh. He  _ wanted _ to fuss over her; he  _ missed _ fussing over her. “Can I get anything else for you?” 

“I’m _fine.”_ _That_ response came out sharp, and Luke conceded, dropping any further effort to urge her to take care of herself. He didn’t have the right to fuss over her anymore. As dinner was now over with an abruptness that Luke found disheartening, she allowed him to guide her back to her rooms, and let the door close behind her. 

* * *

A red notification light was blinking at his comm unit when Luke stepped into his office the next morning. It was the weekly media download from the Jedi Order’s PR office on Coruscant. He hesitated for a moment before filing it away, unopened, not being able to stomach the thought of listening to even the briefest clip. He was more familiar with the faces of the Coruscant Media Casters than he ever wanted to be, and their droning voices dredged up memories that felt tender again, with Mara so close. He opened the reports he’d been pouring over yesterday and stared at them for a full five minutes before tossing the datapad aside. 

In the hall, he ran into Faughn. “You stayed!” he said, and Faughn looked slightly abashed. 

“Yeah,” Faughn winced. “Thanks to Kirana Ti’s stash of—whatever Dathomiri starshine is called.” She made a disgruntled sound and Luke chuckled. “I didn’t know your Jedi could  _ drink _ like that.” 

“It does happen sometimes.” Sometimes Jedi had to blow off steam just like everyone else. There would be a few long faces at breakfast, and a few smug ones who had already practiced the Jedi technique for a hangover. “I think Cilghal might have something mixed up that can help. I can show you where it’s stored.” 

“Yes, _ please,” _ Faughn said. “Oh, and I was just coming to tell you—Mara’s waiting for you in one of the private meditation rooms. She said you could find her there whenever you’re ready.” 

* * *

Luke hurried to the private meditation rooms—while trying not to  _ seem _ like he was hurrying—after seeing Faughn to her ship and wishing her safe skies. 

Mara was sitting cross-legged on the mats in the center of the meditation room, a dictation datapad beside her, droning back what sounded like an expense report into the quiet of the room. Her head went up, her cloudy, sightless eyes blinking in his direction as he stepped into the room. Reaching out, she fumbled for the datapad, nearly dropping it as she scooped it onto her lap, feeling along the edge until she found the off switch with her fingers. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

Mara nodded curtly, setting the silenced datapad beside her. “If this is a bad time,” she said. “I can wait until later.” 

“Not, I’m free.” 

“You didn’t need to change your schedule for me,” she said, scowling. “You can’t just drop your students.” 

“I’m not meeting with any apprentices for another hour,” he said. “We can get started now, and later I have most of the afternoon free.” He  _ had _ shifted a few meetings to make sure his afternoon was open, but he would have done that for anyone who needed extra attention. For Mara, he would have cleared his entire month, if she let him. 

He sat down on the mat, facing her, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. Even without seeing him, she knew the pose and mirrored it. He waited until she shut her eyes—though in her case the action was pointless on a practical level—before he shut his own. 

After a few breaths, he began. “Reach out for the Force…” 

* * *

It didn’t go well. 

Awareness of one’s surroundings was a basic concept that every Jedi practiced, but expanding that awareness to substitute for sight took finer control and skill. Luke explained the process, demonstrated it over and over. Mara’s control always snapped; she was unable to hold focus for more than a couple of minutes. Luke suspected that the trauma Mara experienced when she was poisoned—was  _ still _ experiencing—was clouding her mind, and the frustration she felt whenever she slipped further from her goal just exacerbated the problem. 

In the afternoon, they tried again. Over and over—with Mara no closer to being able to maintain the control needed to expand her awareness, and her temper growing thinner with each failure. She wasn’t a novice, and her inability to master what she considered a straightforward exercise just made her angrier. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Luke promised. “As long as it takes. Would you like to have dinner together? I can bring it upstairs again.” 

“I can eat alone—” Mara started shaking her head, and then stopped, a look of consternation crossing her face. 

“What is it?” 

“I need help with the medication. The injection.” She looked away, even though she couldn’t see his face even if she looked straight at him. “I’d like you to do it.” 

“Oh,” he said stupidly, like a jakrab caught in the beam of a speeder’s headlights. “Of course.” 

The case with the hypodermic injector was still on the table in Mara’s room where Faughn had left it. Mara pulled up the long, loose tunic she wore and exposed her abdomen, bracing herself against the table behind her with her left hand. 

“Cilghal should be back soon,” he said as he took the injector out of the case. He swabbed her gently with alcohol, trying to focus on the task at hand, not on how much he wanted to run his fingers over the smooth skin of her stomach. Talking about his students was as much a distraction for him as it was for her. “She took the newest students to Mon Cala. One of the new outreach programs she set up.” 

“You didn’t go with them?” 

“No. it’s her program. I’m not in charge of everything anymore,” he continued carefully. “The knights share teaching and training responsibilities. Several of them set up off-planet excursions. Kirana Ti’s is more of a boot camp, but it’s very popular.” 

Mara snorted. 

“Tionne does most of the administration work now. She’ll be running the entire place in a few years.” He smiled wryly. “You know I was never very good at it anyway.” 

_ You’re useless, farmboy, _ Mara had laughed after he’d thrown up his hands in despair at an expense sheet. They had been on Coruscant, less than a month before the opening ceremony for the temple on Yavin, finalizing the proposed budget for the Academy. 

_ Let me handle the flimsywork, _ she’d said.  _ You take care of the students and I’ll make sure the figures add up _ . 

And then he’d kissed her, thoroughly distracting them both from expense sheets and budgets and the impending opening of the Praxeum. 

That was before the story broke. Even though only three years had passed, his memories were cleanly divided into the time before the story broke and after—and the time before the story broke felt like it had happened to him in another lifetime, eons ago. 

Shortly after the official announcement declaring the founding of a new Jedi Academy had been released, Mara had come home from a meeting white-faced, wordlessly tossing a datapad onto the table in front of him. The story splashed across the screen was a long exposé from a major holonews network, exposing the partner of the head of the Jedi Order as an Imperial assassin and protege of the Emperor himself. The NRI had a sealed file, the story said, detailing the crimes she committed in his name. 

Following the exposé, every holo channel on Coruscant ran endless commentaries on the topic, every media figure and holotalk host weighing in. Even reputable newsnets were running features, offering opinions and demanding that Mara face their accusations publically. 

The sludgenews outlets had swarmed over every little scrap like gobal flies on a corpse. Somehow they’d uncovered holos of Mara as a dancer, in her guise of a courtesan in the Emperor’s court. “Shocking scandal at the heart of the new Jedi Order!” headlines screamed. They whipped up a frenzy of slander and outright lies. Mara was the Emperor’s personal whore—probably screwed Tarkin and Vader too—murdered a Fulcrum agent and made deals with the Hutts—slipped the location of Katana fleet to Thrawn—had blackmailed Leia to avoid facing justice for her crimes—was now sleeping her way into the Jedi Order—what next?  _ What next?  _

It was relentless. 

NRI had never uncovered the source of the leak. Luke suspected that Fey’lya had a hand in the matter, though there was a strong contingent of representatives from former Separatist worlds that had strongly opposed the formation of a new Jedi Order. He didn’t doubt that they were delighted that he found himself mired in public controversy, less than a month before the opening ceremony. 

It became nearly impossible to leave the apartment without fighting past paparazzi and spycams. Luke had hoped that the media would lose interest after a week, but the onslaught dragged on for months. Preparations for the opening drug to a halt, as Luke found every decision he’d made being questioned, and suppliers who had been happy to take a commission from the new Jedi Order suddenly pulling out. 

The apartment he shared with Mara felt like a tiny prefab shelter in the heart of a sandstorm. Every day it felt like the rooms were growing smaller and smaller, as if the walls were closing in on them. Luke tried to meditate, tried losing himself in the flow of the Force, tried everything to distract himself from the dark miasma in his head that seemed so thick it hung in the air around him. 

One day he’d come home from a visit to see Leia and the twins—those visits felt like the only respite he had from the madness in those days—to find that Mara had gone. Vanished. She’d slipped off-planet before he had a chance to change her mind. She hadn’t left a message. He knew that she’d returned to Karrde, but all the messages and holos he’d tried to send through Karrde’s people were returned, unopened. 

Luke had felt adrift without her. It seemed pointless to continue on with plans for the Academy. He wanted to abandon everything to scour the galaxy until he found her, but even he knew that it was only a fantasy. Mara didn’t want to be found, and he couldn’t abandon his dream of restoring the Jedi Order. She would have been disappointed in him if he had. 

Without a locus for the media to attack, and no new intel to uncover and twist into scandal, the media storm had died down and the plans for the Jedi Praxeum had continued on without her. Even though he refused to pass a message to Mara, Karrde stepped in to offer the Academy suppliers at rates Luke suspected were far below what he charged his other clients. 

They had a PR team on Coruscant now, and—though Luke could hardly believe it had come to this— _ lawyers. _ They’d needed those lawyers during the rough early days of the Academy, and the office on Coruscant had helped facilitate the Academy’s relationship with politicians, the public, and the media. Three years after it had opened, the Academy was doing well, attracting new students and running smoothly—as smoothly as could be expected, anyway. 

Without her. 

Mara hissed as the medication flooded into the tissue under her skin. Her knuckles went white for a second as she gripped the edge of the table, but she didn’t flinch away from the pain. It only took a few seconds. Luke disposed of the injector and dabbed dermaseal on the injection site before pulling her tunic down again. 

“Can you tell if the medication is helping?” he asked. 

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I can’t tell.” Her jaw tensed. “What if I—” She didn’t say  _ what if I never recover my sight, _ though it hung in the air between them. “What if I can’t master the visualization technique?” 

“You’re welcome to stay here until your sight returns. More than welcome. If you’d like to sit in on a class or meditation session—”

“No. I have to get back to work.” 

He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see the motion. “I understand.” He knew she could hear the disappointment in his voice. 

Her face twisted. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ tell me that this is good for me,” Mara hissed. “That sitting around  _ blind _ for months at your Academy will give me  _ magical  _ insight into the Force that I couldn’t get any other way—”

She swung her fist down to pound the table in anger, but she misjudged the distance and slammed her hand along the edge. 

_ “Kriff!” _ Mara curled over her hand, staggering against the table. 

Luke reached out to steady her and found himself pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her. Mara crumpled against him. She buried her face into his neck, her body tense and heaving with each breath. 

“No,” Luke said. “I would never say that.” He stroked a hand up and down her back. “If it were me—if I were the one who had to spend a couple of months without my sight, I’d be angry too. I know how hard it is for you. If you stay, I’ll do anything I can to help.” 

Her hands fisted into his tunic. “I hate this,” she said thickly. 

“I know.” 

After a few more minutes, her breathing changed, shifting into a Jedi breathing technique, and when she’d wrested back some measure of control he eased back. The blue fillerite haze still clouded the green of her eyes. Even with her eyes dulled, she was stunning. This close her could count the freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. 

_ Stars, _ he wanted to kiss her. It hit him like a blow to the solar plexus, like something inside him had caught fire and burned him through. It was a relief that she couldn’t see the way his cheeks colored when he thought of her mouth against his, the soft, insistent pull of her lips. 

“This isn’t like that time on New Alderaan,” Mara said abruptly. Her hands were still tangled in the front of his shirt. 

“No, of course not.” 

“That was a mistake,” Mara said, at the same time he said, “I’m sorry for—what I said.” 

New Alderaan had been a year and a half after she’d disappeared; they’d both been invited to some memorial function that Leia had insisted he attend. He couldn’t remember why Mara had attended; he didn’t remember anything about that weekend except speaking to her for the first time since she’d disappeared. 

All the anger and disappointment he’s felt when she’d left had come spewing out of him like an overheated boiler. How could she walk away from everything they’d built together—how could she  _ leave him? _

Mara had raged back at his entitlement and naivete until they were both worn out. In retrospect—and he’d had plenty of time to think over everything that had been said in anger—she hadn’t been wrong, and she wasn’t trying to be cruel. The media had put her in a terrible position; left her feeling violated and tawdry, trapped by a past that she had worked so hard to leave behind.  _ I wanted you, _ she’d said.  _ I didn’t want that.  _

Later, he hoped he could make amends, hoped he could convince her to come back—but once again, she’d slipped away before he could speak to her. It had felt so final. As if that moment on New Alderaan was truly the end of their relationship—every grievance aired, every fault laid at the offender's feet, until there was nothing left to say. 

When he saw the holos that the sludgenews had captured of the two of them at the memorial—grainy and at a distance, their expressions difficult to read—he felt a deep ache, as if an old wound had been reopened. She would see the holos as a sign that the media would never stop hounding her and he knew Mara would never make contact with him again. He’d been wrong about the latter. 

“A mistake?” he echoed her words. 

“I didn’t want to fight,” she said, sounding as though she were weary to her very bones. “I want…” She unclenched her hands from the front of his shirt and let them drop. 

“I know,” he whispered. Daring to cup her face in his hands, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “We’ll try the visualization technique again in the morning. You’ll get it soon.” 

As soon as he released her, she turned away. “Thank you for helping with the injection,” she said stiffly. 

He wanted to pull her back into his arms and never let go again. He wished her goodnight and left her alone. 


	2. Chapter 2

A light morning breeze wafted through the windows cut into the deep temple walls, drifting into the guest room and prickling over Mara’s skin. As soon as the temperature rose, the windows would automatically seal shut, keeping the interior of the temple cool. There were personal climate controls built into each room in the residential area, but she needed to be able to _see_ the device in order to set the room’s temperature to her preference. 

She blinked her eyes open slowly, passing a hand in front of her face. Nothing. No improvement. Every morning it was the same. 

Taking a deep breath she reached out and attempted to “see” the room with the Force. Other beings were easy to sense; reaching out, she could pinpoint the glow of each presence moving down the hall and through nearby rooms, if she pushed further she could expand that awareness to include the entire level and even the floor above and below. It was a skill she’d been practicing since Wayland, so that even now, it came easy. But simply sensing inanimate objects in the room that surrounded her was beyond her. Like every previous attempt, her control wavered and her hold on the Force slipped away like smoke, any sense of the room around her vanishing. 

She lay still for a few minutes, until she wrestled the thick fog of frustration under control. _Medication first_ , Mara thought as she rolled onto her side and pushed herself up. She could manage simple tasks like dressing and braiding her hair perfectly well on her own without her sight. Then a ration bar for breakfast. She’d go over any messages on her datapad, and then— 

She folded over, head dropping forward, arms gripping the edge of the bed. A deep, shaky breath. There wouldn’t be any messages. She wasn’t supposed to be working. Karrde had told her that her recovery needed to be her sole focus; all that mattered was getting her eyesight back. 

It wasn’t as if the Karrde’s organization couldn’t function without her—it had done so before she had joined his crew, and for the two years she had spent with Luke—she just wasn’t sure she couldn’t function without her work to give her purpose. 

* * *

After breakfast Mara had an appointment scheduled with Cilghal, who had returned to Yavin the night before. The Jedi healer put her into a brief healing trance for an hour, then asked her to come back once a day for the same treatment. Cilghal thought that a light daily healing trance, once a day, would be the best therapy for slowly recovering the tissue that had been damaged. She was even more optimistic than the medic who had treated Mara after the poisoning, assuring her that her sight would return, and probably quicker than anticipated. Mara should have found it reassuring, but it wasn’t. 

“You should still continue taking the medication,” Cilghal told her. “Though I’d like to decrease the dosage soon. Your body’s natural healing processes, buoyed by the Force, will restore what was damaged.” 

_It’s taking too long,_ Mara wanted to snap, but she thanked the healer, who no doubt could feel her frustration with perfect clarity through the Force. 

Her next hour was Luke’s. 

He was already waiting for her in the meditation room when Cilghal escorted her from the medical suite. She could sense his signature as they approached; he was a pulsing sun, a supernova, warm and searing through the Force. Even if she never regained her sight, she’d know him anywhere. Even he wasn’t hers any longer. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he took over from Cilghal, guiding her across the mats with a gentle pressure on her arm. 

“Fine,” she said distantly, already dreading the session as she sunk down on the mats and heard him sit across from her. She took a breath, trying to calm the anxiety crawling up and down her spine. 

“Okay,” he said, his tone neutral. “Should we begin?” 

Nodding, she straightened her back, letting her hands fall loose on her thighs. 

“Reach out and feel the Force around you…” 

That part was simple. Ever since their early days training on Wayland, the Force had always been there when she reached for it, a constant song at the back of her mind. Sinking into the flow came naturally, her sense of self fading away, the entire world around her coming into focus. She could feel the energy of it pulsing around her, around the room—but she couldn’t _visualize it._ She couldn’t _make_ the Force give depth and shape to the space around her. 

Pushing harder only made her focus slip away. Just when she felt like she might be able to make out the mat beneath her, apprehension shivered through her and she was jarred back into her body. 

“This isn’t working,” she growled, digging her fingers into her thighs. She wanted to shoot something, but that wasn’t an option open to her either. 

Luke was quiet for a few moments. “Let me—” he said. “Let me try something. Can I touch you?” 

“Yes.” It was out of her mouth before she had time to reconsider. 

There was a warning rustle as he shifted closer, before she felt him touch her hand. Slowly, as though he might startle her, he wrapped his fingers around her hand. 

He hesitated for a moment. “I’m going to touch your temple.” 

Mara nodded, and then felt him brush away a loose strand of hair before he pressed his fingers to the side of her head. 

“Now,” he said. “Take a breath.” 

They breathed together for a few moments. 

“Reach out. Feel the Force.” 

It felt like she was pulled down into a pool of molten sunshine; achingly familiar and intoxicating. His presence was all around her, winding through hers. And then—she felt her awareness expand with his, until she could sense the shape and volume of the room around her. She knew with certainty the placement of the mats on the floor, and distance to each of the stone walls that surrounded them. It was a strange sensation, _sensing_ the world around her, knowing the space and physicality of an object—without actually seeing it. 

Her brain filled in color and detail. She could imagine the Jedi robes that Luke wore were a sandy brown, although if they were actually printed in loud orange stripes (doubtful), she would never know. She didn’t need to see the expression on his face to know it was suffused with hope. If she never regained her sight again, she would always remember the blue of his eyes. She stuffed the thought quickly to the back of her mind, focusing on holding on to her sense of the space around her. 

She clung to the sensation, but it waved and flickered out as soon as Luke took his hands away. Mara bit back a curse, and she heard a muffled sigh. 

“Can we try again?” she asked, reaching out blindly for his hand. She missed, but he caught her hand and held it. 

“Yes, of course.” Amusement laced his tone. Mara ignored it. 

Once again, he pulled her through the technique, and the world opened up for her; once again, when she tried to follow the pattern he wove through the Force on her own, it eluded her. Every attempt failed, over and over. 

_“Kriff,”_ she hissed. “Kriff, I can’t. I’m not getting it.” 

“It’s progress,” Luke said, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to have it all figured out at once.” He laughed at the expression on her face. “You’ll get there in the end. Why don’t we take a break?”

Mara knew he could read what she thought of that idea on her face as well, but she didn’t argue. He had other responsibilities; she had no right to take up his entire day. 

When she stood, he put a hand on her arm and the world blinked back into focus again. There was a cubby by the door, where students could leave their shoes or personal items, and a control panel for the lights and temperature above it, though Mara couldn’t read the panel itself. 

She grinned, unexpected delight bubbling up in spite of her failure to master the technique on her own. When she moved through the door and into the hallway, Luke kept pace alongside her, hand on her arm, walking in step with her rather than guiding. 

“I’d like to have you over for a meal,” he said as they walked. “In my apartment.” 

“Okay,” she said warily. The request felt weighted with some intention she couldn’t decipher, but it wasn’t like she had any excuse to get out of it. She wished that she could see his face. “When?” 

“Later this afternoon.” 

She shrugged a shoulder. “You know where to find me.” 

  
  


* * *

Back in her rooms, she let the diction datapad read old holonews reports until the door chime announced Luke’s presence. The door slid open and he paused in the doorway without speaking, as though he were studying her. 

It was irritating. Dropping the datapad on the table, she stood and took a few tentative steps across the room. When she reached Luke she held out her arm, and he slid his hand up her forearm to wrap around her upper arm. As long as he kept his hand on her arm, opening his sense to her, she could visualize the space around them and move confidently through the room at his side. 

The hallways of the temple were easy to traverse even without full use of her sight, but Mara hesitated as they stepped out of her room. The hallway was empty; but the floor above where the Jedi lived might not be. 

“Everyone’s down in the lounge,” Luke said. “Cilghal brought back a game from Mon Cala called ankara, and apparently it calls for a lot of players. She recruited nearly everyone who isn’t in a class this afternoon.” 

He described a previous game night at the Academy as they walked, one that had ended in a small fire and a ban on the game in question. He could still make her laugh. 

It distracted her enough that she was half-surprised when he stopped at a particular door at the end of the long hall in the section of the residential floor reserved for senior members of the Jedi Order. He was living in the rooms she’d designed for him. 

“You’re still living here?” she blurted out. 

“Yes,” he said, and she could tell he was nonplussed by her question. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I thought...it’s a large suite,” she said, cringing internally as she tripped over her words. “I thought you might’ve moved somewhere smaller.” 

“It suits me,” he said. “I’ve never lived anywhere else in the temple.” 

After he’d chosen the temple on Yavin and before they’d moved in, they’d spent months pouring over blueprints, figuring out how to build an academy out of a decommissioned Rebel base. The old officers’ quarters and offices became the residential floors of the Praxeum. Luke had intended to simply take one of the smaller rooms, in the middle of the floor, but Mara had insisted that the rooms they shared needed to be a little more spacious than a student’s dormitory. If they had to live together on Yavin for _years_ , she wanted to be comfortable. It’s not like they didn’t have the space to spare. 

She had the walls knocked down between an officer’s bedroom and a series of ready rooms, and completely renovated the space into a single living area. Construction droids had fitted windows into the outer walls, and installed ducts in the walls for the climate control. There was a living room, a roomy bedroom and bathroom with closet space for two, a personal office, and a sunroom, which could serve for meditation or study. 

He led her through the suite to the sunroom. It was his favorite room in the temple. 

Mara could feel the warmth on her face when she stepped through the door, even if she couldn’t actually see the windows that covered the outer wall to her right, two-thirds of the wall straight ahead and curved up into partial skylights overhead. The last time she’d been on Yavin the newly built shelves that covered the two remaining walls were still empty. She could tell that the shelves were now covered in _things_ —personal items. Books, perhaps; the old Jedi texts that Luke was obsessed with collecting. She couldn’t tell exactly what they were unless she focused on them with some intent, so for now they remained blurry shapes in her mind, like something out of the corner of her eye. 

Luke had placed a low table in the center of the room, with cushions on either side for them both to sit on. There was some sort of box beside the table, nearly the same height, whose purpose she couldn’t determine. 

“Refrigeration cube,” he told her as he guided her to one side of the table, “for our lunch.” 

Mara sat down gingerly, shifting her weight on the cushion. Slipping off her low shoes, she set them beside her on the rug. She could feel the sun warming her back through the windows behind her. When Luke let go of her, everything went dark again. She could sense him hesitate, standing above her. 

“It’s fine,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t attach himself to her every second of the day; it was impractical. 

There was a pause, as if he wanted to say something, but he moved away without another word, circling the table and sitting down on the other side of the table. Mara could hear the sound of the refrigerator cube being opened and then a series of soft clicks as he laid things out on the table. 

“I made something for us,” he said. “A special treat.” 

That made her uneasy, and she frowned. He must not have seen her expression, or choose to ignore it, because he continued on. 

“It takes a little effort to prep, but I’ve been practicing with those cuisine holos I mentioned before.” 

A wet, splashing sound, like water being poured into a glass, then final clink, as though the object had been set down with a sense of completion. She waited for him to speak again. 

“I wish you could see them,” he said. And then: “can I touch you again?” 

Mara jerked her head impatiently in affirmation. “You don’t have to ask every single time.” If she didn’t like it, she was perfectly capable of using her shields to shove him out again. 

He placed his hand over hers where it lay on the edge of the table, with a slow stroking motion of his fingers over hers that made a shiver run down her spine. 

This time he didn’t use the visualization technique. An image floated toward her across the connection between them. It was his view of the table before her, looking down at a meal he’d laid out. A large oval platter sat in the center of the small table, a pitcher and pair of glasses alongside. The platter was covered in small, bite-sized portions, each wrapped in brightly-colored edible flimsiplast. 

Mara recognised the Chandrilian tami wrappers. Each wrapper was precisely folded around a tiny edible portion prepared in thin layers. A pink tami wrapper might contain layers of tart maki paste and thinly sliced pickled tubers, a green wrapper might reveal red jaquira jam between sheets of sugared rice crisps. Every tami wrapper was composed to highlight a specific combination of flavors, and in exclusive Chandrilan restaurants on Coruscant, the wrappers were folded into complex shapes. The simple tami wrappers on the table in front of her had been folded into small cubes; Luke had obviously wrapped them by hand. 

“Where did you get all of this?” Chandrillian tami wraps weren’t standard cuisine at the Academy cafeteria; they were expensive outside of the Core. 

“The wrappers and spreads and things come in a kit. I ordered them as a treat for the twins and Anakin when they visit.” 

A thick surge of emotion hit her in the chest, leaving her feeling breathless as she stared down at the display in front of her, his hand still pressed against hers. She pulled her hand away and the vision blinked out. 

“You _wasted_ them on _me?”_

“No, no—not wasted. I wanted to share them with you. It wasn’t a waste.” 

“They were for the twins. You shouldn’t have wasted them on me.” She gestured angrily at the table and he caught her hand before she upset the pitcher. 

“It wasn’t a waste,” he repeated. 

“I’m not your family, Luke.” She glared blindly across the table at him, as if her anger alone could burn him like flashfire. “I’m not even your lover.” 

“No,” he agreed, his voice soft and weighted with an emotion she couldn’t read on his face. “But it isn’t a waste to do things for the person you love.” 

She pulled free of his loose grasp, dropping her hands into her lap and clenching them into tight fists. 

On the other side of the table, Luke took a deep breath. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’m sorry for what happened. I wish it hadn’t. I wanted to say—even though I know you probably know already—but things are different now. The Jedi Order can stand on its own feet.” 

He paused for a moment. “Because of you. Because of what you sacrificed. I promise you that it won’t happen again. I’m not asking—I don’t have any expectations, but—I...I miss you.”

She felt her face go hot as his farmboy sincerity washed over her. 

“Things would be different if you wanted to come back,” he continued. “I’d—I’d like it if you came back.” 

She gulped, shaking her head—not in rejection, but in her inability to process his request. She couldn’t come back. She didn’t deserve his forgiveness after abandoning everything they’d built together; she didn’t have a right to be here anymore. 

Her unspoken protests must have been bleeding out of her, because he continued, his voice soft, “you have a right to be here. You’ll always have a place here.” 

She could sense him shift; lean forward, and she raised her head in his direction. His kiss was firm, confident, his lips pulling gently at hers, coaxing them apart so that his tongue could tease at hers. Her mouth chased his as he leaned away, out of her touch. She knew she was gaping blindly at him, flushed and breathless. 

“Open your mouth,” he said, and she obeyed without thinking. He placed the tami wrapper on her tongue, the tips of his fingers brushing her lips. The thin wrapper, lightly flavored with snow berries, melted on her tongue, and when she bit down, the tart flavor of liwi filled her mouth. 

Inside the next tami were qui-u nuts ground into a paste, layered between crisp wafers and a sliver of shuura fruit. She heard a rustle as he leaned forward before he left another kiss on her lips, this one light and teasing. 

Pickled bulba, pressed between redspar fruit, with a wrapper that had a gingery bite that lingered on her tongue. 

Dahna jam coating a soft, spongy pastry, with a thin layer of ground paricha on top. 

Another kiss. 

She reached out until she could catch hold of his shirt and give it a sharp tug. He laughed against her mouth, and then broke the kiss and leaned away, untangling her fingers from his shirt. A soft sound of protest escaped her mouth. 

She could hear him moving, sense him coming around the side of the table even before he was in front of her. Twisting around, she reached for him, dragging him down. His knees hit the floor with a thunk on either side of her cushion. There was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling in the way their lips moved together. 

There was bare skin under her hands as she pulled him close, and she realized that he’d removed his shirt as he walked around the table. Her hands skated up his chest to the base of his neck, splayed across his collarbone. She could feel the flutter of his pulse under her fingertips. 

His hands were already burrowing under her loose tunic, fingers tracing the lines of her ribs. One hand followed the curve of a rib to her spine and then spread flat against her back, anchoring her. The other found the clasp of the light chest wrap she wore and unraveled it one-handed, while still occupied with the task of kissing her. 

She made a tsking sound against his lips. He was _annoyingly_ good at splitting his attention when he wanted to. His clever fingers returned to her breast, teasing a nipple until she moaned, squirming. Letting go of him, she struggled her tunic over her head and tossed it behind her. It hit something with a soft thud, and she started to turn her lead to look, forgetting for a split second that she couldn’t see. 

“It’s fine,” Luke mumbled. “Don’t worry about it.” A thumb at the corner of her jaw gently turned her head back, and he kissed the crease forming between her brows. 

His right hand cupped the back of her neck for a moment as he ghosted light kisses over her cheeks. It slipped down, knuckles grazing over the top of her breast before traveling around her side and joining its mate, firm at her back. 

He tipped her gently backward onto the rug. “You don’t need to see for this,” his voice rumbled in her ear, and she laughed. _Kriff,_ she’d missed this. 

After settling her on the rug, he stripped her leggings away, and then moved to remove the rest of his own clothing before lowering himself over her again. When he shifted his weight above her, she heard a clatter off to the side. “Oh. Kriff,” Luke muttered. She felt him lever himself onto one arm above her. 

“What is it?” 

“Just knocked over the pitcher. I’ll just—later.” 

She reached for him just as he turned back and her fingers mashed into his face. He laughed, and caught her wrist in his hand before she could draw it back. 

“Sorry—oh.” Her apology stuttered away as he kissed her palm. She sucked in a breath as he pressed his mouth against her wrist, tongue teasing the delicate skin. Desire streaked through her, lighting up every nerve, as he continued down her arm, mouth hot and wet against her skin. 

When he released her arm he paused for a long moment. Without her sight, she couldn’t tell what he planned to do next, couldn’t follow the moment of his body, and she gasped as his tongue swept between her breasts. He tapped the tip of her nipple with his tongue and was gone, drawing out another pause before his fingers ran lightly along the line of her shoulder, up her neck and curling around the shell of her ear. He knew _exactly_ where to touch her, and soon she was gulping for air, hands digging into the rug underneath her as she writhed under his fingers and mouth. 

She should—she should— _she should_ reciprocate, she thought, but the thought came out in a garble of syllables as his fingers flitted over the curve of her hip, his mouth pressing low on her stomach. Her hands scrabbled at his shoulders, and with an amused sound he shifted, settling over her. Now she could frame his hips with her knees, pinning him right where she wanted him. 

She traced his shoulders with her hands, running up the broad sweep of them to the back of his head. Curling her fingers into his hair, she took hold and _pulled_ , a sharp, quick, hard tug. He groaned, hips juddering into hers. Mara chuckled, pleased that she could still draw the same responses out of him as she had when she shared his bed. 

“Kriff, Mara,” he breathed into her neck. 

“Oh, just fuck me already,” she laughed. 

He was inside of her in a single, sure thrust, and Mara keened, a high breathy wail. _Kriff,_ it felt good to feel him inside her again, the blunt thickness of his cock filling her. She heard the catch in his throat as her hips rose to meet his, and it made her clench around him. He didn’t need any encouragement to begin to move, his hips rolling fluidly against hers in a familiar rhythm. She knew he was trying to draw out their pleasure, basking in the slide of their bodies together, but she urged him faster, until his hips began to stutter and thrust hard and fast, driving her to that bright tipping point—and following her over the edge. 

Luke slumped against her, his breath heavy in her ear. She felt him shiver as she scraped blunt nails over his scalp, his softening cock twitching inside her. His chest pressed against hers as he took a deep breath and then propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Good?” He stroked the tip of a finger along her temple. 

“Mmmmm.” 

Chuckling, Luke slipped out of her and lifted himself up. Mara grumbled and tried to hook his leg with her ankle. Not being able to see exactly where his legs were, she missed, and her heel bumped onto the rug. He returned for a moment with something soft—a cloth napkin, probably—to clean them both up, and then moved away again. 

Still splayed on the floor, Mara stretched her arms over her head, letting the loose, languid feeling suffuse her. The late afternoon sunlight spilled in through the windows, the golden warmth sinking into her skin. 

She could hear Luke rustling around. Clothes, she decided fuzzily. He was picking up his clothes. Probably putting them on, too. She frowned. It seemed a shame for him to cover up again, even if she couldn’t see him. 

“Here,” he said, and pushed something soft into her hands. A tunic. Mara sat up and passed the fabric through her hands until she found the wide hole for her head and pulled it over her head, twisting the tunic around until she got her arms through the proper openings. It hung loosely around her, tight at the hips. 

It was his tunic; it smelled like him. 

She remembered the knot that had formed in her throat when she realized that his smell had faded out of the few things she’d taken with her when she’d returned to the _Wild Karrde._ As if sensing the swell of emotion that still threatened to choke her, Luke cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, lips brushing hers. “Stay?” 

“Yes.” It wasn’t until he said the words that she _knew_ exactly how much she needed to hear them. 

The emotion that poured off of him was like a sudden flood, swamping them both with his relief and longing, colored with a deep, familiar grief, his kiss turning fierce and possessive. 

She had never expected to feel his absence as sharply as she had, the loss of him a yawning void deep within her. No matter how hard she worked, how deep she tried to bury any thought of him, it felt like his ghost was following her as she fled across the galaxy. He had haunted her every day for three lonely years. 

“You will come back?” he asked again. “Even after your eyes are healed?” 

“I do have to make a few arrangements first,” she said, rolling her eyes. Karrde wouldn’t be happy, but he’d managed before. “But yes. I’ll stay.” 

“Your eyesight _will_ come back,” he said. It was the first time he’d made that promise. 

“Jedi foresight?” she said dryly. 

“No, I just know that you wouldn’t stand for it otherwise.” 

She snorted. 

“You’ll master the visualization technique, too.” He ducked his head to leave a kiss on her shoulder, but leaned away before she could reach for him again, sighing. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“Some of the tami wrappers have… melted.” 

“Oh.” Mara was disappointed. “They were delicious.” 

“There are still a few left—a few that haven’t melted. Do you want to finish them?” 

“Yes,” she said, but grabbed hold of his arm before he could move away. “Help me see.” 

As the room solidified around her, she maneuvered him back onto the cushion she’d abandoned and slid into his lap, sitting sideways, her legs tangled in his. At least he wasn’t wearing his shirt, she thought. 

Moving purposefully, she selected one of the tami wrappers on the platter at random, unable to determine the color or flavor with her limited senses. She lifted it to his mouth. 

“What is it?” she asked as he chewed thoughtfully. 

“Sliced bulba, some sort of wafer, and pallie jam.” She could hear the smile in his voice. He loved pallies. 

“My turn,” he said, and Mara opened her mouth for the tami he offered her. 

She leaned her head back against his shoulder as the flavors mingled in her mouth, sweet, with a tart aftertaste. “Saba berries, a qui-u nut crust, and honey glaze.” 

He kissed her, and she could taste the pallies on his tongue. 


End file.
